Judge — July 27, 1929 — page 12: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“It doesn't cost much to have it built in, and I know then where my daughter is parked!” The Helping Hand I had received my degree. I was now a full-fledged Vocational Expert, opening my own office with an honest glow to better the lot of mankind. Looking at the golden letters on the door, I con- gratulated myself again that I was a “Vocational Expert”—the world was full of mere “Employ- ment Agencies.” I entered, sat down at the new desk. Perhaps the first caller— my heart bounded—would be a potential hank president. Or a possible secretary to a railroad president. ast-came a knock. “Come in.” I called, making brisk, non-existent telephone numbers on my virgin pad. and an gen- tleman in faded overalls. He sidled in, wiped off his cap, and “Elevator man, he job for me. heh y,"" 1 smiled, bravely deciding that I might have to y or two for the bank- I drew out a standard form motioned him to a chair. Now, then, name, please “Angelo Romano Albini To- masso Prulello——" “Just a minute,” I interrupted hastil, Suppose we take only the first and the last. Angelo, what He regarded me with an air of childish injury, opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. “Triano,” he sighed, omitting God knows how many cherished in-betweens. “Address, Mr. Triano? “T used live in) Brookalyn,” he volunteered eagerly. “Nica place—then I have beeg fight with landlord. He no like da concertina—a-ah, 1 tell him "Yes, yes,” I said soothingly. “Quite right, too. But, now you live?” I gotta room now. Astoria. Nice room—overlook canal.” Ten minutes’ noisy interrogation fi- nally divulged the approximate street number of this bit of Old y in the New World. I were you born, Mr. suss twenty-five,” he smiled, after some finger-counting. “I no got the year.” He waved away this latter triviality. I sighed, wrote down and besought his vocation. “Tee,” he beamed proudly. “I carry more ice than t’ree men— so!” He bounded up, hunched forward, hands over shoulders, and stumped about. “Once I slip an’ breaka da lex—look, I show you!” He had one foot on the desk, and had rolled up enough pant- leg to expose some eight inches of hairy and muscular shin ere I succeeded in glossing over the undoubted misfortune. “Why did you leave your last employer?” Mr. Triano swelled purple with ominous recollection, like a child’s balloon, He burst out suddenly. “He wass a crook!" He pounded the desk. “A liar, cheat, crook!" I am not unduly timorous, yet I drew back in consternation. “He calla me a so-an’-so—I smacka the face, so!” My client squinted and dealt his leathery check a ringing smack. “You were fully justified,” I said nervously. The door opened. to disclose the anxious face of Ambrose. the janitor. He nodded inquiringly at Mr. ‘Triano. and ermo,” IxpiaNant Wire—Short waves, my eye! Haven't you noise enough here without trying to get it in Czechoslovakia? rere = aE comicbooks.com